


Mending

by OtterMcKilbourne (p_3a)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Fever, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Medical, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/OtterMcKilbourne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anduin Wrynn falls ill while staying with the Black Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckoftheDreads (Mezduin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mezduin/gifts).



> Smut is in italics so that it can be avoided if wished.

Anduin didn't remember it being quite this warm in his room.

He squirmed and kicked off his blankets, moving to lie face-down with the pillows about his ears. They were sticky and cloying; he groaned, shoving them off the bed, too. He lay there for a few moments, his pulse thrumming in his ears and his face burning, before he decided that maybe he should try and splash some water on his face.

He sat up and a swooping wave of disorientation and nausea blanked his vision; he found himself, against all odds, on the floor. But it was - oh, it was  _cold._  Without thinking about it, he pressed his face to the floorboards and passed out again.

-

Wrathion was three doors away, but his acute hearing picked up the thud even through his shallow sleep.

He immediately worried that they might be under attack, but that concern was immediately laid to rest by logic as soon as his mind managed to collect itself. He would have been woken sooner by his Blacktalons were that the case. Maybe Anduin had slipped on his cane and accidentally hurt himself? The dragon drew himself upright and stretched, yawning. He supposed he could deign to come to his Prince's aid, whatever the matter was.

He trudged down the hallway and pushed Anduin's door open - and tried to hold back his initial reaction to the mess he saw, which was horror at the prospect of Anduin having been assassinated. His bedding was strewn every which way as if thrown during a fight, and at first Wrathion couldn't see Anduin at all before managing to spot him lying to the side of his bed, face-down and barely breathing. Subduing his panic, he strode across the room to touch at Anduin's cheek, to check he was at least  _alive_.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found Anduin's cheek to be warm to the touch, then a hum of concern when he realised Anduin's cheek was  _warm_  to  _his touch_. With a gentleness which would surprise anybody who didn't know him very well, Wrathion shook Anduin's shoulder, attempting to wake him.

"Anduin Wrynn?"  
"Mmmh." Anduin wrinkled his nose, screwing up his face.  
Wrathion brought his arm around Anduin's shoulders, sitting him upright and leaning him against the bed. "Prince Wrynn, what  _are_  you doing?"  
Anduin only answered him with a groan and a sudden retch. Wrathion shot away from his side and grabbed for the (thankfully empty) chamber pot, shoving it into Anduin's lap. He coughed, his head bowed - thankfully not noticing the sheer alarm on Wrathion's face.

There wasn't much of substance coming out, and Wrathion absently remembered that Anduin had neglected most of his dinner in favour of an early bed. He supposed he should have seen this coming. "Are you alright?" he asked as Anduin's head fell back against the side of the bed again.  
Anduin didn't give a coherent response, but he seemed close to passing out again. Cautiously, Wrathion lifted the chamber pot out of his hands and placed it to the side - easily within reach of the bed. He lifted Anduin under the arms and hoisted him onto the bed again, staring at him.

His face was bright red in a way that Wrathion hadn't seen before, his forehead blushing just as much as his ears and cheeks. His hair was sticking to it, messy and strewn; at some point he'd managed to wrest his nightshirt open, his chest glistening with sweat in the low light. It was plain to Wrathion that he was quite ill in a way the dragon hadn't seen before, and he didn't exactly know what to do to help.

The dragon filtered through the Titan-granted data in his mind and found a few scraps of helpful information. Carefully, he laid Anduin on his side so that his slack jaw was angled down; he wouldn't choke if he emptied his stomach again, that way. Would make for a rather unattractive corpse. He moved over to Anduin's wash basin, cursing for a moment that he wasn't a Blue dragon who could cool the water for Anduin's comfort as he soaked a flannel in it and brought it over to his bed. Carefully, he sponged it over Anduin's chest; the man groaned softly as Wrathion methodically pressed the room-temperature water onto his burning skin.

He returned to the basin and wrung the cloth out, dunking it in fresh water again before moving back over and placing it on Anduin's forehead. That was all he could do for now - he knew that the fever was intended by Anduin's body to keep his temperature raised enough that it would drive out whatever infection was troubling him, but too high and it would damage his own biology too. Warm to Wrathion's touch was already dangerously high, for a human - so lowering it with application of cool water could only help him to survive.

Anduin murmured a little in his sleep, then suddenly shivered. Surely he couldn't be cold  _already_? But it happened again, and Wrathion gave a cursory glance over to the sheets Anduin had presumably kicked onto the floor earlier before his attention was snapped back to Anduin by slurred speech.  
"'s cold, Dad..."  
Wrathion's shoulders sagged a little. At least he wasn't calling him 'Katrana', yet. "I'm not your father, Anduin. Would you like your sheets back?"  
Anduin giggled drunkenly. "Yes you are. Don't be silly."  
Wrathion rolled his eyes. "Regardless. Would you like your sheets back?"  
"Yuh. Yeah. I. I'm really sorry, Dad..."  
"Don't be." Wrathion didn't want to hear this. He didn't  _want_  to be privy to Anduin's relationship with his father any more than he already was. He stood up and moved over to fetch Anduin's sheets.  
Anduin sounded like he was going to start crying. "I... I just wanted to do what's best... I didn't mean to upset you..."  
"I'm not your father, Prince Wrynn." Wrathion's tone was growing short as he threw the blankets over Anduin's shaking form.  
The blond started sobbing, apparently not having noticed the sheets covering him. Wrathion tucked him in as he cried his apologies: "I didn't mean you to disown me, Father... I'm sorry... please don't leave..."

He sounded so distraught that it gave Wrathion pause not to go back to his own room like he'd originally planned. With a heavy sigh, he shifted into his draconic form and stood on the bed before Anduin's face.  
"There.  _Now_  do you believe me, that I am not your father?"  
Anduin's sobs began to subside, though it sounded more like it was out of exhaustion, than from Wrathion's actions having calmed him. With another exasperated breath, Wrathion deigned to curl up by Anduin's chest. At least this way he'd be able to feel any sharp changes in Anduin's temperature during the night.

And... oh. Maybe he was a little more tired than he'd estimated, too. With Anduin's pleasingly warm radiance seeping through his scales and his fast, strong heartbeat soothing his ears, Wrathion fell asleep in what felt like no time at all.

-

Wrathion woke up in his own bed, which was a little worrying. But maybe not so much when he rationalised that the only possible reason he could have moved here would be that his Blacktalons had done so after more of Anduin's night disturbances.

He clambered out of bed, stretched, hopped onto the floor and shifted into his humanoid form. After checking in the mirror for just a moment that his clothes were as flawless as usual, he stalked out into the corridor to go and check on his favourite Prince.

It seemed like the situation hadn't improved. Right was stood by Anduin's bedside, a thoughtful frown on her small face; another human Blacktalon was knelt by his bedside, taking his pulse. Wrathion felt a curl of indignant over-protectiveness swell in his throat, but he pushed it back in favour of asking what was going on.

"I think we'll send him home," Right said curtly. "He's not improving here."  
"It's only been a day," Wrathion snorted derisively. "Surely we can give it a little more time?"  
"He might not have more time."  
"Oh."

Wrathion sighed. "Fine. Stormwind it is, then. Right, go and prepare my things."  
"Your Majesty..?"  
"I'm going with him, of  _course_ ," he snapped as though it was obvious.  
"...of course, your Majesty." She bowed her head and strode out of the room.

Wrathion paced back over to Anduin's bed, his hands tucked in the small of his back. The man was piled under layers of blankets again, but still shivering; another cold compress had been pressed to his forehead, his hair soaked through and sticking to it. They were right. He wasn't in a good way at all.

Perhaps Stormwind's medics would be able to handle this affair better.

-

As a matter of fact, all the change of scenery implied was that Wrathion was joined pacing outside of the royal infirmary by a very agitated King Varian Wrynn.

It took twenty minutes of the both of them circling each other like irritated cats before Varian finally addressed Wrathion.

"What are you doing here."  
"You might have asked the same of your son when he was in /my/ inn four hours ago," Wrathion snapped.  
Bad answer. Varian was suddenly towering over him, penning him in against the wall. "What  _was_  he doing there? I can smell the scent of dragon on you, little one. I'd choose your words wisely."  
"He was spending  _time_  with me," Wrathion glared. "Like he  _chose_  to. It's no secret to your son or any other that I'm the last of the Black Dragons, King Wrynn, nor that I am the  _only_  uncorrupted member of my Flight to exist in centuries. I assure you that your son's interest in me is altogether to do with how  _phenomenal_  I am, and by no means as  _forced_  as  _your_  interest in my  _aunt_."

Varian stared down at him, but there was a calculating edge to his predatory gaze. After a few moments, he backed off with a grunt; Wrathion adjusted his shirt self-consciously.

"You don't have the madness in you like she did," Varian grunted. "You can stay."

They remained in silence for at least a further half-hour. It was Wrathion who spoke next; he had his arms folded in the small of his back again, looking out of the window at the end of the corridor.  
"He talked about you while he was feverish last night, you know."  
"What." Varian spun on his heel to look at him. "Why were you in his room."  
Wrathion gave him a withering stare over his shoulder. "Because I heard him fall out of his bed and wanted to investigate what was the matter. I'm not  _lazy_ , or  _indifferent_  to his welfare, you know. He kept insisting he was sorry about something."  
Varian folded his arms and gave a non-committal snort. "That sounds like him."  
"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" Wrathion found his hackles raising, despite there being no reason. It's not as if Varian was insulting  _him_.  
Varian looked startled at being challenged. "...I just mean he cares about what other people think."  
Wrathion glared at him. "No you didn't. You  _still_  think he's soft, don't you?"  
"He  _is_ ," Varian found himself saying, though he looked taken aback. "But I never said it was a bad thing."  
Wrathion let his glare linger for a moment longer. "Fine."

He remained quiet for another few moments before continuing. "...I think you should let him know you're proud of him, King Wrynn. He clearly isn't aware."  
Varian huffed. "I think  _you_  should tell him how you feel about him."  
It was Wrathion's turn to spin around. "What?"  
Varian glanced him up and down. "Your regalia tells me you're a Prince. Surely you have other things to be doing than waiting on a royal from another nation. You seem presumptuous, like you'd be here even without his permission, but the bags under your eyes say your concern's genuine." He folded his arms and gave a surprisingly humorous sneer. "It's unkind not to tell him you're soft on him."  
"I am--" Wrathion pouted, drawing himself up. "I am  _not_  soft! Let alone on him!"  
Varian waved a hand, grinning. "If you say so."

They stared at each other for another few moments. "I know you're a Black dragon," Varian stated. "What's your name?"  
"Prince Wrathion, of the Black Flight. I needn't ask  _yours_ , of course, or I'd return the courtesy."  
"Wrathion." Varian repeated the name as if weighing it up. "Wrathion. Alright."

Both of them immediately dropped their conversation on hearing the infirmary doors open and someone step out.

It wasn't Anduin, of course, but it was one of his favoured medics, a draenei woman whose name Wrathion didn't know. Both men looked at her expectantly.

"He's at least conscious," she smiled, speaking in accented Common. "He should be better in a few days. You're welcome to come in and say hello, your Majesty."  
Wrathion went to say thank you, before realising on hearing Varian's voice do the same that it was the King being addressed, not him. A pang of jealousy hit his stomach as Varian moved forwards to go to Anduin's bedside - it overflowed into a baleful glare when, as he tried to follow the King inside, the draenei stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.

"Who is this one?" the draenei asked, suspicion on her tone.  
Varian gave a 'tch', then a deep rumble of a laugh. "He's with me, Mishka. It's alright."  
She shrugged with a smile and unhanded Wrathion, who sneered and brushed his shoulder off. Rightly so, too.

He  _was_  sitting up, though his eyes were glazed over and it took him a few moments to focus on either Wrathion or Varian. Varian moved to his bedside immediately, while Wrathion approached at a more nonchalant pace. He  _wasn't_  soft on him. He wasn't.

"Anduin?"  
"Mh. Dad."  
Varian chuckled. It was obvious Anduin was sick. He only called him anything other than Father when he was. "I'm here, Anduin. You're going to be alright."  
"I know," Anduin said absently, blinking slowly. His face was still flushed and he still looked disorientated. Wrathion wasn't sure what had changed since he'd been brought here.  
Varian looked a little taken aback. "Well. Uh. You're a strong boy, Anduin. Man. I suppose. You're almost seventeen now."  
Anduin gave the same delirious giggle he had the day before. "No; don't be silly, Dad. I'm ten..."

The King continued flailing, and Wrathion glanced sidelong between him and Mishka, who was politely busying herself with something else. It was amusing somehow to see him so unsure in the face of his son's prone form. Perhaps Anduin was weak physically compared to his father, but Varian was most certainly weak emotionally compared to his son.

Quietly, Wrathion decided it was best to leave them to it. Although his instinct was to shift into his whelp form and dart out underfoot, he assumed it would startle the King and possibly frighten Mishka, so he deigned to walk out of the infirmary in his humanoid form and resume his vigil outside of the door.

-

_He must've fallen asleep, because it was dark when he woke up. He sat up, rubbing his cheek from where it had been pressed against the wall, cool Stormwind stone leaving its mark on his face. He waved away vague dregs of information on the quarry it had been mined from and the mountains it had been formed under as he stood up and, without thinking about it, pushed his way past the infirmary doors._

_Most of the candles were out; Mishka was nowhere to be seen. But Anduin was sat up in his bed (one of only two; this infirmary was for the royal family only, after all). Candles were lit all about him, giving him a radiant halo of sorts, and he was reading. He looked up when he noticed Wrathion, smiling calmly despite his obviously still flushed face._

_"Hello, Wrathion."_  
 _Wrathion swallowed, then bowed. "Prince Wrynn."_

_Without remembering having walked over, he found himself at Anduin's bedside. Anduin reached a hand to caress Wrathion's cheek; it was painfully, deliciously hot, making Wrathion blush and a sweet, cloying sensation swirl between his legs. He reached forward and pushed Anduin's book aside, climbing onto the bed to straddle him, gripping his feverish face with both hands and staring down at him._

_Anduin's delirium seemed to clear at Wrathion's touch. He looked up at him and, though still radiating heat, his gaze seemed lucid and full of affection. "Go on," he said; the sheer amount of trust and adoration in his tone made Wrathion melt._

_Wrathion willed Anduin's clothes away with the same ease as he did his own, pressing their lips together and grinding his hips down with a vigour to match Anduin's temperature. He was_ so  _warm, so wonderfully overwhelming - Wrathion hadn't known he'd like it until he had it, feeling the way Anduin's arms pressed into his back as they worked against each other, how the older Prince's cum spilt over Wrathion's back like so much scalding water--_

_\--how suddenly he was somewhere very different, molten claws sinking into his back and screams refusing to come to his locked-down lips._

-

He woke sharply, still on the bench outside of the infirmary. He  _hated_  that. The best dreams  _always_  had to turn into nightmares, didn't they? He sat up, curly hair plastered to his forehead, adjusting the way his clothes had skewed in his impromptu sleep. Absurd. Ridiculous. Deplorable.

He stood up and headed into the infirmary again. It was much the same as it had been in the dream - it was dark, Mishka wasn't there - but Anduin's bed was darkened, too. With a long sigh, he headed over to it and looked Anduin's face over as he slept - far less fitfully than the previous night, he noted.

He  _was_  very handsome, wasn't he.

He shook his head and pushed his hair out of his face, snorting derisively at himself. He found himself at Anduin's side yet again like some-- ugh, like some lovesick  _pet_. It wasn't becoming of a Prince at all, let alone a Black Dragon.

...but maybe it would stop the nightmares, at the very least...

He spent a further ten seconds trying to will himself to walk away, then gave up and conceded. Letting the smoke of transformation seep sluggishly off his form, he delicately perched his tiny whelp form onto the edge of Anduin's bedspread and paced into the middle of it. Anduin groaned as he accidentally put his paw on one of the tender spots on his stomach; with an agitated swish of his tail, Wrathion moved to lie on his lap instead, curling up onto a small scaled ball.

He was just beginning to sleep again when he felt Anduin's hand rest on his back. Afraid he was about to be made fun of, he began to prepare to dart out of the room - but Anduin merely stroked the ridges on his spine with one unnaturally warm thumb, gentle and soothing. Wrathion hated to admit how pleasant it felt and, unusually after a nightmare as vivid as the one he'd just had, found himself drifting off to sleep again well before the sun began to rise.

-

He was woken by a pair of cool, calloused hands lifting his tiny body. It took a few moments of drowsy consciousness to realise that they were Varian's.

He gave an irritated snort and bit the pad of Varian's thumb before the King dropped him. "Don't touch me," he mumbled, slinking off the bed and shifting into his humanoid form.  
"Don't sleep on my son."  
"He was  _warm_. Everything else in this castle is freezing cold. Would it kill you to light a fire here and there?"  
"I don't care. Don't sleep on my son," Varian scolded, rubbing the bite on his hand. Anduin himself gave a small laugh, and Wrathion, suddenly remembering his presence and the reason for it, whipped his head around to look at him. He looked... tired, but... better.

"Mishka says he's going to be well enough to travel in less than a week."  
"I can tell him myself, Father," Anduin smirked.  
Wrathion stared openly at him. "You stroked my back while I was asleep," he said without thinking - then immediately stopped when he remembered whose company he was in, resisting the temptation to clap a hand over his stupid big mouth.

Varian rolled his eyes. "I think I'll leave the both of you to it."  
"No, Father, it's--"  
"You don't need to, your Majesty--"  
"I know a hint when I see one," he grinned wolfishly. "I'll be back in half an hour with breakfast for the both of you."

The awkwardness of the silence that followed was palpable, and Wrathion considered leaving when Anduin finally spoke up.  
"Wrathion?"  
"If you're going to say something smart,  _don't_. If you're going to say something witty,  _don't_. Just don't say anything. No. Ugh." Wrathion buried his face in his hands. "Your father's just trying to humiliate me. It's absurdly childish, for a king."  
"Why were you sleeping on me last night?"

Wrathion groaned loudly and pressed his hands further into his face. "I just  _was_ , alright?! Everything else in this castle is ridiculously freezing and it may as well be your fault! I don't  _like_  you."  
Anduin was dogged, though. "You could have lit a brazier."  
"I didn't want to disturb the mighty Prince of Stormwind in his fever-induced slumber."  
"You knew I was sick, so you brought me here. You could've just gone back home, afterwards."  
Wrathion glared at him. "It's my choice. Why are you so bothered?"  
"Because," Anduin hesitated, glancing aside, "I think you've got a crush on me."

Wrathion gave the most indignant and least flustered glare he could muster at the present time, although he was absolutely sure that Anduin could see him blushing. "I do-- I do  _not_!  _Where_  do you Wrynns keep getting this idea from?"  
To his surprise, instead of teasing, Anduin looked down and away. He seemed... disappointed? Humiliated, somehow? "Oh."  
"I-- I mean--!" Wrathion held out both of his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean--"  
Anduin's face lit right back up. "So you do?"  
"No-- Maybe!! What business is it of yours?!" Wrathion folded his arms and  _pouted_.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the return of Varian, carrying a generous tray of food and a big grin. Wrathion gave Anduin one last stare, then moved aside to allow the King through. Three bowls of something that looked dreadfully hearty and altogether not to Wrathion's taste at all, although he supposed he'd have to suffer through it for decency's sake.

He was having as much trouble making his blush go down as Anduin was his fever.


End file.
